


push my body out to sea and i'll come back to haunt us both

by victoriousscarf



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Fix-It, Multi, Pairings TBD, Past Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Warnings May Change, time travel is a messy business
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26387161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: Apparently "Once and Future King" doesn't mean what Arthur thought it meant, because he woke up in the past, not the future. Now he just has to deal with a Gwen who won't give him the time of day, a Morgana that still smiles at him, a father who is still alive and king, and most importantly of all.He has to not let Merlin know he knows.
Comments: 114
Kudos: 295





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jammeke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammeke/gifts).



> Sure I'm ten years late, and I have never before used a "fix it" tag on a fic I've written ever in my entire life, but after finally watching this show I have /feelings/. 
> 
> And apparently time loop fics are now my niche.

"You're the Once and Future King,” Merlin had whispered at some point, toward the end, when they had lost the horses and Morgana had already died, brushing Arthur’s hair back from his face, voice thick with tears he would not shed and Arthur had barely managed to nod. “You’ll come back.” 

And they were alone, Merlin’s fingers so tight around his shoulders, like he could keep Arthur with him through sheer force of will and Arthur had gathered his strength again, to hold on, to stay just a little longer because Merlin was begging him too and now, at the end of it all, it turned out Arthur could actually not deny Merlin.

He would have resented that if he thought he had more time.

“Yeah,” he’d rasped. “I’ll be back.” 

They had said other things, Merlin’s hands clutching him tighter as Arthur staggered, but Arthur held on to that more than anything else, even more than Merlin’s revelations about being a sorcerer. There wasn’t time to deal with that. 

_ Once and Future King  _ though, that meant this wasn’t over. He could only hope that was true as the breath rattled harsher and harsher in his chest, as Merlin tumbled down under his weight because he couldn’t carry him anymore. He held onto  _ and future _ . 

So when he opened his eyes, he could only think that maybe Merlin had been right and this was an entirely new life. 

After all, it’s not like he expected to ever open his eyes again, not when he’d closed them to Merlin’s anguished screams. 

But then he squinted up at the canopy over his bed,  recognizing Camelot and he had a moment to think, frantic and elated, that Merlin had done it. He didn’t know how, because he remembered something that certainly felt like dying, but he was home. Merlin must have done  _ something _ . 

He sat up, pushing the covers down from his chest and frowned, looking down at his chest and seeing no wounds. There wasn’t even a scar. In fact, scars that had become familiar friends were not there either. Tipping his chin back he looked at the canopy again and only frowned harder, because it was not quite the same as when he left. The red was faded, a different pattern woven into the fabric. It looked rather like the canopy that Merlin had set fire too, some many years ago. An accident Arthur never bothered to question. 

Maybe—maybe that could all be explained though. After all Merlin was—and Arthur’s breath caught painfully in his chest, making him pause and focus on breathing. 

Merlin had magic and he had never trusted Arthur with the truth. Arthur thought he had been dying, so at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain that confession opened up in his chest, under his breastbone. But now he was awake, and he apparently hadn’t died, and now he would  _ have to _ . His fingers twisted in the covers and he sat there, staring blankly at the far wall. 

If he had been paying attention, he might have noticed that the tapestry across the way had also met a brutal fate, a sword from an assassin cutting it in half some time ago. 

He just sat there, the heavy sheets pooled at his waist, staring at the wall and seeing nothing until the door opened. When his eyes snapped over it wasn’t Gwen that stood at the door, nor any of the knights he expected, nor Merlin. 

Arthur squinted, trying to place the servant that walked in with an  extraordinarily ordinary plate for breakfast. Arthur had almost just died, he figured he deserved a first meal with some more fanfare than this.

“My lord,” the servant muttered, and he did the strangest bobbing motion, like he expected to be avoiding something and Arthur just continued to stare. The boy’s name was—Reginald or Ronald or—Roland. His name had been Roland, and he had died some years ago when the sweating sickness swept through Camelot. 

He also wouldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes and Arthur thought this was a very strange version of the afterlife.

-0-

It was the only thing that made sense, even if nothing about the afterlife actually made sense, Arthur though, pulling his vest on without waiting for Roland to help, even if Roland’s face got slightly pale at Arthur brushing his hands off. 

But Arthur was too distracted to really look at him, because he wanted to find the priest that had once presided over Camelot’s chapel when he had been a child and demand to know why the afterlife looked exactly like Camelot from ten years ago. 

Once he was in the hallway, he froze. Morgana swept down the hallway in the opposite direction, but Arthur recognized her long hair and intricate gown and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. If this was the afterlife, perhaps it made sense to see her.

He just wasn’t  _ ready _ to see her. 

When she glanced over her shoulder, probably at the sound of Roland closing the door behind him, she smiled at Arthur and Arthur could only gape at her. 

“Are, are you alright, sire?” Roland asked beside him because Morgana looked confused at his reaction. She looked down the hallway, as if to check for something else causing Arthur to look like he had been stabbed—again. 

“I’m,” Arthur started.

“Arthur,” Morgana said, coming back toward him. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you saw a ghost.”

Arthur just kept gaping at her. 

“Arthur?” she tried again, more cautiously, and Arthur wondered if her death had been so  traumatic she just forgot all of it on her way to the other world. But then again, hadn’t his  _ own _ death been traumatic enough? Hours of being pulled and begged to survive when all he wanted to do was lie down and give up. Why would he remember if she didn’t?

His head spun and he wished he could ask Merlin what the hell was going on. 

“Just a strange dream,” Arthur said, because her face was younger, her hair smooth instead of ratted, and her dress a shocking white instead of black. 

“Are you quite sure?” Morgana asked, and Roland still hung around, like he felt scared to leave Arthur on his own in his obviously addled state. 

“A very strange dream,” Arthur said and Morgana nodded, like she understood that. 

But then again, she probably did, considering the dreams that used to plague her. Arthur now realized were visions of the future and his felt his fingers clench. 

“Are you quite sure?” she asked, leaning forward to get a better look at his face and Arthur leaned back when she got to close, his heart beating fast. As far as his memory went, she had been trying to kill him mere hours ago. “Your father is going to be concerned if you show up to court looking like this.”

“My,” and Arthur thought he really wanted to sit down. “My father, yes, of course. I’ll compose myself.”

“You can come to me, you know,” she said and Arthur tried not to laugh because honestly none of this felt very funny at all. “If you need help.”

“I don’t need help,” Arthur said, even as he desperately did.

-0-

He wandered through the castle, ducking into an empty room when he heard his father’s voice coming down the hallway. Afterlife or not, he did not feel ready to face Uther Pendragon yet. 

Looking around the empty room, that in later years would become a guest chamber, he counted to a hundred before daring to leave. Part of him thought he should really sit down somewhere, try to work out what was going on, but no one seemed to be acting like anything was wrong at all. 

Which, even if this  _ was _ the afterlife, shouldn’t there be more fanfare when someone died? Did they not know? Was he supposed to exist in this strange version of Camelot until it was time to become the  _ and future king _ ?

When he ducked out of the door, he almost ran directly into Guinevere, carrying a bundle of dresses and in her old servant’s clothes.

“Gwen!” Arthur said, catching her after his abrupt appearance startled her and no, no, this was wrong. Gwen wasn’t dead, he knew when he  died she had still been alive. Or had she been murdered so quickly? Had she been queen for mere hours before her life was cut short? 

He remembered the last night, her insistence on coming with him no matter what, the way he had picked her up off the ground and spun her around because they both knew the next day might bring Arthur’s death. But not  her’s , he thought desperately, not  _ her’s _ . 

He realized his hands were gripping her shoulders and he must have looked crazy with the way he stared at her when she tried to move back. 

“My, my lord,” she stammered. “Is everything alright?”

“My lord?” Arthur repeated blankly, because did Gwen not remember either? Why was he the only one in the afterlife who had any idea what had happened to them? “Nor Arthur?”

If this was hell, he was definitely hunting down that priest. 

She just looked at him even more concerned. “You have never asked me to call you by your name in my life, my lord.”

“Right,” Arthur said, because he remembered the way her hands had rested on his face, when she wanted him to really listen to her, the feel of her mouth when she smiled into their kisses. He remembered nights that had bleed into morning, with her in his arms, kisses in the cold chill of autumn mornings and others during the sweltering afternoons of summer. He forced his hands to open, to let her go, because she was only looking more worried by the second.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and he wanted to say no, he was not alright, because he couldn’t remember the last  time she had looked at him like this. 

It had been—

“I’m fine,” he said, rapidly changing his theory on what had just happened to him.

Merlin had called him the  _ Once and Future King _ but maybe he should have said the  _ Once and Future and Past King _ instead. 

-0-

When Gwen left, throwing concerned looks over her shoulder, he stormed down to Gaius’ chambers, throwing the door open and startling the Court Physician badly enough he almost dropped the glass vial in his hand. “Where,” he started to ask, but one look around the room revealed that Merlin wasn’t there. Arthur hung in the doorway for a long moment, his hands braced on the doorframe, Gaius trying to calm his racing heart. 

“My prince!” he said, once he got his breath back as Arthur just stared blankly at all the spaces Merlin would take up that were empty. “Can I help you with something?”

“I,” Arthur started. “What day is it?”

“What day is it?” Gaius asked. “It’s Monday.” He paused, squinting out the window. “No, it’s Tuesday.”

“Tuesday,” Arthur repeated, trying to remember if that mattered. “No, what’s the date?” and Gaius’ expression shifted.

“Are you—"

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Arthur snapped and slammed the door on his way out. 

-0-

He went and hid in the chapel of Camelot, because no one ever went there anymore. Sometimes he shared that joke with Morgana, that the best place to be alone was the chapel. She teased him about why he would ever want to be alone, and he laughed and now he sat with his back against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him, staring blankly at the stained glass across the way from him.

“I think I’ve lost my damned mind,” he told the stained glass. 

“I think I died,” he added. 

And then. “I think this is the past.”

For a long moment he sat there, letting the words bounce around in his head, but the truly terrifying thing was they all felt right. 

Alright, he thought, squaring his shoulders. 

Maybe this was the strangest thing to ever happen to him, but it was hardly like he was a stranger to the truly bizarre. 

If he was in the past, that meant maybe—maybe—

His brain skidded away from that thought, the thought that maybe if he was in the past he could change things, he didn’t have to walk the exact same path. But it was too much, too breathtaking for him to think about it long at all.

Except the next morning, Roland found a scribbled scroll underneath his hand, where he fell asleep writing at the table. 

Roland picked it up, squinting at it. It went on for quite a while and Roland only had time to read a few of them before Arthur started to  stir and he abruptly set it back down. 

_ Don’t eat the sodding Apple _

_ Remember to yell at Merlin _

_ Figure out how to forge a noble seal correctly _

_ Go to Shrine—apologize and mean it _   


_ Avoid the donkey ear thing _

_ Introduce self to Elena  _

_ Do not be alone with Sophia _

_ Don’t let Merlin know I know  _

And under all the other lines, none of which made any sense at all, except maybe the forging the noble seal one, was just one word, underlined several times. 

_ Mordred.  _


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur scared off Roland when the poor boy tried to help him dress. Arthur had never realized how annoying it was to have someone else’s hands on him, because he had gotten so used to those hands only being Merlin’s. He could have, and should have, done his basic dressing himself years ago. It wasn’t like the dressed Morgana and then Gwen wore, with their laces and side panels and layers. He needed help with his armor, not his pants. 

But he’d kept it up, because he’d gotten so used to Merlin in his space, so used to his eye rolls and his floundering hands as he failed at sometimes the most basic tasks. 

None of which was Roland’s fault, as much as Arthur needed him to not even try. “But, your highness,” the boy started, holding Arthur’s belt. 

Arthur yanked it back with slightly more force than was warranted and regretted it instantly. “I’m fine. I can handle my own belt.”

“I was sent to make certain you were taken care of,” Roland said. 

“And you have!” Arthur replied. “See you brought breakfast and everything. You can leave now.”

“But--” Roland started.

“You can leave now,” Arthur repeated, lower, and the poor servant scurried from his chambers, leaving Arthur holding his own belt and feeling  bereft of something he was pretty sure he shouldn’t miss at all. 

Sometime he’d woken up in the middle of the night, list half finished, and wondered if Merlin would even come to Camelot at all.  Surely, he must, he thought, frantically scribbling down anything else that came to mind as he tried to squash the panic he felt. 

And why did he feel such panic, anyway? 

Wouldn’t it be better if Merlin never came? 

If Merlin came, he would only lie to Arthur again, and now standing in the queasy light of the morning, Arthur found his hands crushing his belt. If Merlin came, he would lie to Arthur, and Arthur had accepted it last time because he was  _ dying _ . How could he accept it now?

He hoped Merlin was still far away, because his head spun every time he thought about it. 

Finally pulling the belt around his waist, he set out down the hallway, determined to find Morgana. Even all these years later, when Morgana had been gone from Camelot since he was crowned king, he knew the way to her chambers, the well-worn stones between their rooms full of aching familiarity. 

Sometimes, even after she had overthrown Uther and declared herself queen before being forced out, he found himself in front of the door to her empty chambers. He wondered what others would have thought about it, when they saw their king standing in front of his would-be usurper's doors. 

But some nights he hadn’t been able to stay away.

Now he pushed the door open without knocking, causing Gwen to accidentally drop the clothes she held, Morgana turning from the window. 

“Arthur!” she said and Arthur had to catch himself with one hand on the wall. He knew, because this was still the past, and Roland had woken him up, that she would be there. But seeing her, in her gown of rich blue still took his breath away. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you,” Arthur said. 

“Now?” she demanded, standing in the open window. Her hands were twisted up in front of her, anxious and pained and Arthur frowned. 

“Morgana, what’s the matter?” he asked, stepping forward. 

Her face twisted. “As if you don’t know.”

“Morgana,” he repeated and then stopped when the sound of drumming came from the courtyard down below. He froze, his face going slack and she frowned at him.

“Did you forget?” she demanded. “Is that why you’re not with your father, like usual?”

“I,” Arthur started, coming over to join her by the window. He looked down, seeing the wooden platform set up and the executioner holding an axe. 

Honestly, he thought vaguely. Why had Uther never settled on but one method of execution for sorcerers? Why switch between horrors like he was trying on a different jacket? 

“I didn’t remember,” he admitted and she was giving him a tight, narrow eyed look. 

“It’s not like this has ever bothered you before,” she said, an accusation and Arthur stared at her because he suddenly could only think about the axe and Merlin’s neck—or her’s. 

“I know it hasn’t,” he said, even though his throat had gone dry. He turned away, looking back out the window and came to a shuddering stop. His hand on the windowsill went white as it tightened, because from here he could see the entrance into the courtyard. 

And of all the people in the kingdom, Merlin had just some sauntering into the courtyard. He carried a heavy pack on his back, that stupid neckerchief around his throat and Arthur could only feel his hands going even tighter against the stone. 

He’d wanted more time, he thought, somewhat hysterically. He’d wanted more time before Merlin appeared because just seeing him felt like the sword sliding into his stomach again. 

That boy with the stupidly young face and overly large pack and long fingers holding it in place was going to spend the next decade lying to Arthur’s face—and probably saving his life. He’d tried so terribly hard, even in the end, when Arthur had been pierced with a sword that could kill even the undead. 

But then Uther was speaking, as the prisoner was brought out, and Morgana laid a hand over Arthur’s as Arthur realized this was Merlin’s first moment in Camelot. 

He came to Camelot, and the first thing he saw was a man executed for magic and Arthur hadn’t wanted to be sick at one of these executions since he was a child and Uther started to make him come. 

“Arthur,” Morgana said again, quietly, like she had been saying his name several times. “Arthur, what’s wrong? Your face—"

“I,” he said, and tried to force his fingers open, to pry them from the stone. 

“Arthur,” she said, still soft. “You have not been well since yesterday. Have you gone to see Gaius?” 

Arthur nodded, because it was technically true, and he could not bear the thought of going there now. If he went there now, he would almost certainly run into Merlin, who was probably on his way to see him. The thought made something queasy and terrible open up in him. 

He had never realized this was when Merlin entered Camelot for the first time. 

“Maybe you should go and see him again,” Morgana said, and Merlin looked up. Several other people had looked over, and Arthur could only imagine what they thought of their crown prince looking terrified and sick in the window at the execution of a sorcerer. Morgana often protested the deaths, but he never had. He often stood by his father with a stony face. 

He would have jerked back away from the window, except across the whole courtyard, Merlin was looking at them and Arthur couldn’t look away. 

“Arthur, you look like you saw a ghost,” Morgana said and Arthur finally jerked his gaze away. He was looking straight at Morgana when the axe fell, and he saw her flinch as she turned further into the room and away from the scene below. 

He caught her hand with his, now that he could. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“You have never apologized before,” she said and Arthur didn’t dare look out the window again. 

“I know,” he said. They both turned to the window as Uther declared a festival and Arthur went pale again. 

“What is wrong?” Morgana asked. “You are not yourself.”

“It’s hard to explain,” he said, because his father was declaring a festival, mere moments after cutting a man’s head off. Twenty years, he said, of no magic in Camelot and Arthur wanted to laugh until he remembered that was his own age. 

Twenty years since Uther banned magic because of his mother and his own birth. 

“Morgana,” he started, except another voice rose from the courtyard. 

“An eye for an eye!” the witch yelled. “A tooth for a tooth. A son for a son!” and Morgana slid her eyes back to him again. 

“Fuck,” Arthur muttered because it occurred to  him he remembered the coming festival. He’d been targeted by magic and Merlin of all people had saved him. He’d put it down to a fluke the last time but now—if Merlin had magic—

Morgana’s eyes were wide as she stared at him. “Arthur--”

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said, trying to remember what he even sounded like when he was twenty. “I’m sure it will take more than a witch like that to kill me.”

It would take someone he loved, and a sword forged in dragon’s breath and he felt again that feeling of being stabbed, saw Mordred’s face, the look in his eye, and then the horrible smile at the end—

“You still must be careful,” she said. 

“I always am,” he said and for a second it felt sincere. 

Her eyes flickered to the window again before focusing on his face. “What did you want to talk about, this morning?”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he said and it sounded far too pathetic to his own ears. 

She laughed, tilting her head. “You talk to me every day.”

He looked down and realized they were still holding hands. “I know,” he muttered, except they  _ hadn’t _ , not for years. He tried not to think about the way she collapsed on the ground, all graceless limbs, her arrogance and shock frozen on her face after Merlin stabbed her. 

“I thought it might have something to do with the festival,” Morgana said. 

Arthur’s jaw worked for a second. “Like what, like I might ask you to it?” he asked, stupidly. 

She swatted his shoulder with no force behind it and he wanted to cry. “Not that I would go with you, the way you ask.”

“I didn’t ask!” he protested. 

“Right, well, before you do, the answer is no,” and she was teasing, though the smile slipped from her face when she glanced at the window again. Arthur pulled her further into the room and away from the window and she frowned at him. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arthur muttered, trying for surly. He finally let go of her hands. “And I won’t bother to ask.”

“Good,” Morgana said, and Gwen peeked her head around the door to the antechamber, where she must have retreated earlier and Arthur felt breathless again. He wanted to walk up to her, to smooth her hair back from her face and kiss her temple, like he usually did in the morning upon waking. 

But she was giving him a  narrow-eyed look, like he had intruded someplace he didn’t belong, so he turned to go. 

“Be careful!” Morgana called after him again and he waved a hand over his shoulder. “ Don't forget to see Gaius!” 

“If I feel like I must,” he said, not intending to go. 

It felt like a pulse under his skin, to realize Merlin was already here. Merlin would be right there if Arthur went looking, but Arthur still didn’t know if he wanted to embrace him or strangle him, and until he figured that out, it would probably be best not to go at all.

He was so worried about the thought of Merlin, he didn’t look up when he turned a corner. 

“Ah, Arthur,” Uther said, and he was in his crown, his heavy clock and Arthur’s head snapped up. 

And to think he thought he hadn’t been prepared to see  _ Merlin _ , when now his father stood in front of him, smiling that way he only ever smiled at Arthur and Morgana and Arthur felt his stomach drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started working on this chapter Friday night, but a 4.5 earthquake interrupted me mid-line. Nothing even broke, the only real damage was to my heart rate and inspiration. 
> 
> But for those who wondered how long it would take Merlin to show up, the answer is not long at all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized all at once today this was my first Christmas Eve in the fandom! So of course to celebrate the airing of... that finale... I present to you my present on this the eighth anniversary.

For a damningly long moment, Arthur could only stare at his father, whose expression was increasingly darkening. 

“Father,” he said finally. 

“Arthur, are you quite alright?” Uther asked, as the knights around him looked at each other behind his back before all turning to stare at Arthur. “I was just coming to find you, because the Knights said you haven’t been at the practice ring today yet, or yesterday.”

“I,” Arthur started, mind spinning with an excuse. “I had other things to attend to.”

Uther’s eyes narrowed and Arthur needed a better excuse. He remembered finding this easy once, avoiding his father when he needed to. But too many years had passed when he had gotten used to being the King, in control of himself and his own destiny. 

The last time he had seen Uther, his father had been a ghost, tearing apart Camelot for Arthur’s failures.

“Morganna was worried about you last night at dinner,” Uther said and Arthur swallowed. Even when he skipped dinner, they always dined together. 

Hindsight was cruel, he thought. 

“I think it’s just been a head cold,” Athur said. 

“Have you been to see Gaius?” Uther demanded and Arthur grit his teeth together.

“I already feel better!” he said with too much punch. “I was just going to change to head to the practice grounds—"

“Arthur,” Uther said with a frown. 

“I’m fine, father,” Arthur said, even though it was the furthest thing from the truth. 

“Will you be at the feast tonight?” Uther asked. 

“Of course, father,” Arthur said, and the entire conversation felt like a coat that didn’t quite fit anymore. Hadn’t he longed to see his father again, enough to risk everything to see him in the afterlife? But now it felt like an itch under his skin that he had no way of escaping. 

Had he just never realized how oppressive Uther’s hand had been because he didn’t know anything differently? 

“See that you are,” Uther said, as he continued on his way down the hall, leaving Arthur staring after him, his fingers itching as the knights behind his father looked at him as they passed. 

He wanted to hide again, to lick more of his wounds that were being revealed all the time, but instead he put on his armor and went down to the practice grounds. 

There were so many knights that had not survived when he arrived and it made the back of his throat close up. So many of these men would not see the decade out. Others would retire. 

But there at the front was Leon, with his blond hair and his easy posture and Arthur missed his own knights. These men, for the most part, belonged to his father. 

“Arthur,” Leon said. “How are you? We haven’t seen you in a day.”

“I’m fine,” Athur lied again. “Ready for practice.” 

Except he’d also forgotten, somehow, how much some of his father’s knights disliked him. It wasn’t that he was rusty, because he was still at the top of his game, but he was no longer used to them trying dirty tactics to bring him down while Leon’s face got pinched. 

But they didn’t have anything on the enemies he’d faced on the actual field of battle so at the end of it Leon just said, “You’re in very fine form today.” 

“Maybe I am,” Arthur said, realizing he could not do that again. It had been satisfying to beat their heads together, but if he was suddenly  _ too _ much better, they might ask questions. He wasn’t sure what would come of those questions, as long as he kept his mouth shut, but the last thing he needed was an accusation of magic hurtled at his head. 

“I heard the rumor you weren’t feeling well,” Leon said and Arthur rolled one of his shoulders. 

“I feel fine now, obviously,” he said with an easy grin that didn’t feel easy at all.

It had been two days and he still felt exhausted. 

“Yeah,” Leon said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re obviously doing fine.”

-0-

That night Arthur went to the feast, because Uther always had a feast going on for something or other, and did not stare at Morganna’s empty seat. She rarely came when one was thrown after an execution and Arthur had never bothered to question it when it happened. 

He wasn’t even sure he’d ever truly agreed with his father, but he’d followed him, and by the time he had become King of Camelot, it felt like he had gone on  autopilot . Magic was dangerous, it was better to keep it out of Camelot. 

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he looked up to find his father frowning at him down the table again so he forced his shoulders back and an easy smile on.

And he did not think about Merlin, probably already in Gaius’ chambers, maybe already sleeping, probably buzzing with excitement to be in Camelot. 

Arthur just wished he was still anywhere else.

-0-

The next day dawned bright and early and Arthur had been up late, going over his list again. When he slept, his dreams felt unsettled, like maybe he heard a voice calling from a long distance—or from deep in the Earth. 

But at least this time he remembered to hide the parchment before Roland slunk inside. 

“My prince,” he greeted, as  cautious as ever. 

Arthur just grunted, dressed himself, and went to throw knives at a target. Except when he got there, Roland picked up the target and Arthur paused. 

“You could just put it there,” he said, tossing one of the knives in the air. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be holding it?” Roland asked. “I am your manservant, aren’t I?”

“Which is why you shouldn’t,” Arthur started and then scowled. 

Because, oh, right. 

He looked up, tossing one of the knives in the air and almost missed catching it when he saw Merlin standing there. Just standing there, looking around with a stupid grin on his face like he was just excited to be in Camelot and exploring. 

Catching the knife, Arthur only had a second to try and convince himself it was a bad idea before he threw the knife at the earth between Merlin’s feet, making him jump in the air and then give Arthur a peculiar look. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking back up at Arthur, and the whole thing made Arthur’s breath catch and his chest tighten. 

Because looking at Merlin felt like a revelation. This was the kid that was going to stay by his side for a decade, risking his own life and happiness and health at every turn, because for some stupid reason he believed in Arthur. 

But he was also going to stand there with that little smile on his face, and lie straight to Arthur’s face for a decade, and the worst thing was Arthur was going to deserve it. 

“You look lost,” Arthur said with a shrug. 

“So, you throw a knife at me?” Merlin demanded, huffing. “That doesn’t seem very charitable.”

Over the target he was still holding, Roland was looking between Arthur and Merlin in confusion but Arthur barely noticed. Most of his attention was still focused only on Merlin. 

“I don’t have to be charitable,” he said, cutting off every syllable and knowing he was speaking to a Merlin that no longer existed. “You should move on.”

Merlin snorted. “Move on? You can’t command me.”

“Actually,” Arthur said, stepping right up into Merlin’s space, because this was what was expected of him. He had been the jerk who made a man run with a target just to throw knives at it. He would attack a man untrained in combat just to prove a point. He really  _ was _ a royal prat. But at least that meant he could aggressively move into Merlin’s space and be a  _ prat _ , even when he felt the weight of another decade on his shoulders. 

It was always to be a prat around Merlin, he even did it on purpose just to get an eyeroll, a muttered insult. Even when his world was falling apart, it made things feel normal. 

He couldn’t change that now, even when it made his stomach twist to see Merlin squinting  angrily up at him. 

“I can command you,” he said, even though he had ten years of memories saying otherwise. 

Merlin just snorted, not moving back an inch and Arthur ached. 

“You can? What are you, the king of Camelot?”

“No,” Arthur said sweetly. “I’m his son.” 

But when some guards moved forward, like they were expecting Arthur to ask for Merlin’s arrest just for standing up to his face, Arthur waved them away. “And you should be careful,” he said, with far more heat than the moment called for. 

“Of what? Running into other royal prats?” Merlin asked and Arthur laughed, because it was easier than sitting on the ground and screaming. 

“Run along now,” he said, making shooing motions at Merlin with both his hands and Merlin rolled his eyes. 

But as he left, Arthur couldn’t look away, and as he left, Merlin glanced over his shoulder at him. 

Jerking his eyes away, he saw Gwen standing in one of the castle windows, laying a velvet cloak out over the ledge, frowning at him. Biting the inside of his cheek, and remembering how things had gone last time, Arthur couldn’t help but wonder that Gwen had ever decided to speak to him. 

Instead of dwelling on that a second longer, he turned abruptly, gesturing at Roland to just put the target down. “I think I’m done with that for today,” he said, even if he had barely trained at all. 

He went down to the stables, finding a horse and fleeing for the line of trees outside of Camelot. Riding made him feel better, even if it was stupid to go out on his own. At least when he got home, he could make some noise about going hunting, and prove to everyone that he was obviously fine, and did not need to go see Gaius at all. 

Even if he didn’t actually go hunting, and found himself on the riverbank, the horse tied to a nearby tree as he laid on the ground and looked at the sky. 

So, he was in the past. 

So, it seemed whatever destiny he had was still tied up in Merlin, waking up barely before Merlin strolled into Camelot with his stupid neckerchief and sunny  disposition and total lack of a survival instinct. 

So, this time Arthur knew. 

He knew Merlin’s secrets, he knew Uther’s secrets, he knew Morgana’s secrets. 

Hands behind his head he stared at the sky, and didn’t think about whether he would run into Merlin again the next day or not. At this point, he was curious to see if destiny actually existed or not, because if it did, he wouldn’t have to go seeking out Merlin at all.

Merlin, and destiny, would find him instead. 

Better he  start preparing for that now, than be  blind sighted by it later. 

Staring up at the sky and feeling the sun filter down through the trees he closed his eyes, and braced himself. 


End file.
